


Nightgowns and Sedatives

by MortuaryBee



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Daddy Kink, Dubious Consent, F/M, Gen, Het, Mild Sexual Content, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Sleep Deprivation, Violence, dub con, implied force feeding, sedatives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-04 20:47:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3088787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MortuaryBee/pseuds/MortuaryBee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was no time there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nightgowns and Sedatives

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing Hannibal. Feedback is always appreciated.

There was no time there.

The only nocturnal light source was a small but blinding crack under the basement door. The contrast between the thick concrete walls and soft expensive linens on the bed startled her at first. Now, she hardly noticed it anymore than the occasional cockroach that crawled across the plush patterned rug underneath her writing desk. The room was decorated identically to the room she grew up in. The same antlers were mounted on the wall above her bed. He had called it a housewarming gift. The rest was waiting for her when she arrived.

An alarm that rang through speakers mounted far above her head startled Abigail awake. Moments later a harsh bright fluorescent light showered the room in an artificial yellow. As she adjusted to the rude awakening from less than enough sleep she ignored the faint buzzing of the light above and focused on the familiar photograph mounted on her desk.

She never asked how he got the framed picture of her family that spent so long in their kitchen from the police. He cleaned it well. She remembered the blood splatter that covered the photograph as well as she remembered how good the three-point buck they held had tasted. She stopped trying to remember the wind and fresh air some time ago.

30 feet up past concrete, metal, insulation, and impeccably kept sealed-glass tiling Hannibal stood in front of a counter-mounted stove with six burners. He used one to prepare a large pot of chicken noodle soup. On the adjacent burner sat a silver-plated copper kettle with dovetail seams. The man wore dress pants covered with a clean apron, freshly shined shoes, and a crisp white button up. The top two buttons were undone, his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and his hair was tucked behind his ears. He considered growing it out further with somewhat less intensity than he considered his long term guest.

She had felt ill since last night and as Hannibal placed the final garnish atop the meal he wondered whether or not it was a ruse. Abigail was generally in good health, but he couldn’t figure out what she could gain by faking sick. As he poured echinacea root tea for them both he decided to let it play out. Sick or well she wasn’t going anywhere. A frequent but low dose of a tasteless sedative would help insure that. He added an extra drop to the broth. She needed her rest if she was battling an illness.

Abigail was in the half finished basement bathroom when she heard the door open softly. He was early. She hastily scribbled a note on toilet paper and stumbled back to her bed as quickly as she could. She hoped the hot steam from the sink helped her look convincingly bed-ridden as she stuffed the note into her pillowcase. A familiar and comforting smell greeted her just before Hannibal entered the sectioned off portion of the basement she had almost started calling home.

“Chicken-noodle soup?” She rubbed her eyes, which exacerbated the redness of her face.

“A classic. The cooking of the broth breaks down ligaments, fats, and essential vitamins and minerals in a way that makes it easy to digest even for the most unwilling of stomachs. Bone-broth has been beneficial since paleolithic times, but this particular dish has become something of legend. It is especially helpful in cases, such as yours, where the patient has a long history of associating the healing process with the meal.” He rolled the serving cart next to Abigail’s bed and, in her opinion, sat uncomfortably close. She sat up more to prevent him from looming any further than to prepare for the soup. “After All, broth may heal the body, but nostalgia heals the soul.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Now, Abigail.” Hannibal shifted closer and held a spoonful towards the girls mouth. He shielded her sheets from its’ drip with his free hand. “It’s important to keep our health up during trying times. Besides, you don’t want to go hungry…”

_It’s a grave insult to refuse a meal so lovingly prepared. You don’t want to go hungry, do you?_

Images of tubes and needles tore through Abigail’s consciousness. For a moment she could feel something hard and long being jammed down her throat. She was half-conscious. All she smelled was plastic, sweat, and bile. She swallowed around something that was no longer there and shakily took the spoon. Hannibal’s steadying hand helped guide it to Abigail’s mouth. The soup tasted as delicious as it smelled. She repressed the bile threatening to rise and continued eating in silence. Hannibal gave Abigail a genuinely fond smile and patted her on the knee.

When Abigail no longer needed assistance Hannibal took one of the mugs of tea for himself. “A wholesome tea can be made from the echinacea flowers, leaves, and roots. It’s said that the root has the most potent healing effects, but is significantly more bitter than tea from the leaves or flowers. However, I’ve found that adding a bit of honey, lemongrass, and spearmint compliments the earthy, bitter, taste of the roots quite well. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Empty bowl set aside, Abigail looked up from her cup of tea. It took her a confused moment to register the question before she slowly nodded her head. Hannibal smiled at her lazy expression and pushed her hair behind her ear. On the other side of her head he pushed Abigail’s hair back and lingered for a moment on the rough scar where her ear used to be. It had healed quite well considering the haste with which it was taken, but there was considerable colloid scarring all the same. It was an unfortunate, but necessary sacrifice. He brushed his thumb across her jawbone and in a drug induced haze she relaxed against his warm touch. Tea forgotten, she spilled some onto her silk nightgown and frowned at the wet warmth.

Hannibal chuckled softly at her confusion and set the mostly empty cup aside. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” Abigail didn’t respond until she felt the covers pulled back and her nightgown pulled up. She tried to shake her head and reached for Hannibal’s hand just above her knee. “I-I’m cold…” Hannibal frowned and easily pulled the gown towards her stomach. “You’ll be even colder if you leave it on.” When he reached the bottom of her cotton underwear it was clear she was unable to assist so he looped his right forearm behind her knees and hoisted her lower half sideways off the bed. The sudden shift startled abigail and she jerked forward. Her crotch bumped against Hannibal’s upper thigh just as he pulled the nightgown past her breasts. She let out a surprised sigh and clumsily pushed back. Hannibal abandoned the nightgown and dragged his left hand across her chest. He cupped her right breast and rubbed her nipple with his thumb.

He lowered her back onto the bed and leaned over her. With one foot still on the floor he pressed his other knee between her legs. Abigail sighed breathlessly as her legs fell to either side. She pushed back and grasped at his collar. Her failed attempt at pulling him towards her made Hannibal smile. He leaned down further to rest his forearms on either side of her shoulders. He initiated a slow kiss. Abigail let out a frustrated huff and nipped at his lower lip. Hannibal deepened the kiss and captured her tongue between his lips. He sucked lightly and toyed with her nipple as she awkwardly thrust against his thigh.

Hannibal pulled back when her movements became so sloppy she accidentally slapped him in the ear. He smirked fondly at her messy hair and dazed expression. When she tried to pull him down again he stopped her with a hard bite on the lower lip. The bite was hard enough to make her gasp in surprise and thrust the air where Hannibal’s thigh had been moments before.

“Nightgown.” There was no more resistance than a pout as he slipped the cloth over her head and crossed the room to grab a fresh white gown from her dresser. He patted the pillow above her head. “Hands up.” She obeyed wordlessly. The lust had dissipated by the time Hannibal tucked the bedcover on either side of her. “Don’t wanna sleep…” She tried to keep her eyes open but ultimately failed. “Have to-”

Hannibal hushed her softly and bent down to lick the small drop of blood off her chin. He sucked on the cut on her lip and leaned back to admire her form. He stroked Abigail’s hair until her breathing evened out. “There’s my girl.” He watched her eyes dart back and forth under their lids for a moment before returning upstairs. He had an evening of entertainment to prepare for.

Abigail woke an indeterminate amount of time later. She wasn’t sure if it was the same day as when she fell asleep until she tasted fresh blood. She winced more at the memory of what had transpired than at the sharp jab of pain in her lip. The slow, dull, throb convinced her she was actually awake this time even if her vision was still myopic. However, her body was harder to convince. She pushed the covers back and tried to stand, but her legs wouldn't hold. She sighed in momentary defeat and stretched them out across the floor.

Abigail flexed and extended her knees, ankles, and hip joints to the best of her ability until she was certain she could try again. She managed to make it the few steps to the dresser without falling. She leaned on the wood for support. She changed clothes as quickly as her addled body would allow and threw her nightgown and used panties into a crumpled pile.

The torpor dripped out of the girl’s body as she ascended the stairs to the main house. The basement door was unlocked. He was in a good mood. By the time she entered the kitchen she was able to mimic her normal activity level and basic motor function with minimal effort. Hannibal stood in front of a large wood cutting board and prepared a variety of vegetables with his back to her.

Abigail opened a knife drawer as quietly as she could and reached for a small paring knife. Hannibal continued to cut an onion. “And what do you need that for?”

Quick on her feet Abigail replied, “I feel a lot better so I thought I’d help cook...Maybe learn a thing or two. Dad did most of the cooking.” Her appeal to his ego softened his expression as he turned towards her. “You are always welcome in my kitchen. Let’s start with the familiar. The fish needs to be gutted beheaded, finned, scaled, and quartered. Bottom shelf on ice.” He gestured to the fridge on Abigail’s right. She pulled the tray out of a container of ice. It held a large summer flounder on a wire rack. She paused momentarily as she realized Hannibal’s knee was now barely three inches from her shoulder.

He silently directed her to the adjacent counter top while he cleaned a serrated knife he had used to slice tomatoes. She could feel his eyes on her as she cut through the fish and efficiently disposed of it’s viscera. The fish felt remarkably similar to Nicholas Boyle. She wondered if the meal was intentional as Hannibal smirked over her shoulder. “Excellent, as expected.” Abigail smiled at the cutting board.

She helped Hannibal with the rest of the meal and managed to slip a small knife up the sleeve of her cardigan. When she set the table she made a small cut in the bottom cushion of one of the dining chairs. It was most likely to be Will’s. She’d seen him glance towards it multiple times on the rare instances they ate together in the house. He would turn to talk to it on occasion and the words would freeze on his lips when he saw the empty seat. They never spoke of him.

When Hannibal returned to the kitchen Abigail placed the note in the cushion with the corner just barely sticking out. Hannibal sent her off with a promise for dessert and she thanked him with a hug. As she leaned into his protective embrace she wondered if freedom was really worth it.

After a particularly well cooked dinner Will unfolded the scrap he found in his chair and held it up to the bathroom light. “Oh, my god.” He threw open the door and slammed into Hannibal’s chest. “It’s a shame, really.” Before Will could breathe he felt heat on his thumb. He dropped the burning note in surprise. Hannibal sounded remorseful. “We could’ve been so happy together, the three of us…” The glint of a knife reflected off of Will’s glasses and he slammed his fist into Hannibal’s gut. He left the madman crouched on the floor and ran back into the dining room.

“He’s got her, Jack.”

“Who?” The jovial smile slowly faded from Jack’s face when he saw Will’s expression.

“Abigail! He’s got Abigail.”

Hannibal loomed in the doorway with a large butcher knife concealed behind his back. “Will, Abigail is dead. She was buried nearly a year ago. You’re having an episode.”

Will ignored the killer’s attempt to instill doubt and leaned over Jack. “Did you see the body, Jack? I didn’t. Did _anyone_ see the body?”

“I can assure you Abigail Hobbs is dead. I identified the body myself, and looked over the autopsy reports at length.” Answered Hannibal with a resigned and sorrowful tone. Jack looked from one man to the other and Will leaned in further to cut Hannibal out of his field of vision.

“There was a note, Jack! She left me a note crying for help. She’s _here._ ”

“Let me see it.”

“He-he took it from me.” Will pointed at Hannibal accusingly. His eyes focused on a far corner of the room. “It doesn’t matter about the note.” He ran his hand through his hair in frustration and lined the rim of his glasses with Jack’s eyes. “She hid it in the upholstery of my chair. Look for yourself!” Will pulled his chair over and revealed the side he found the note in. “Look!”

“I don’t see anything.” Will looked down at the chair. The upholstery was intact and Hannibal winked over Jack’s shoulder. Will shut his eyes and groaned in frustration. “He switched it.” His knuckles were white with strain on the hard chair-back. “He switched the damn chair.” He threw the chair to the side. “It's real. I _know_ it was real!”

“Okay, Will,” Jack held both arms out to assure Will he wasn't a threat. “You need to calm down. There’s no one here but us.” He gestured slowly at the three men occupying the ornate dining room. He pushed the man’s glasses up to initiate eye contact. Will's brow furrowed and he narrowed his eyes at the mantelpiece. “Whatever you think you saw wasn't real.”

Hannibal took a careful step towards him as if Will was truly unhinged.

“No! No, you-” Will instinctively backed away. “-you stay away!” He angrily looked from Hannibal to Jack and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. “I’ll find her myself. Abigail?” Will ran through Hannibal’s house and threw open every unlocked door he could find. “Abigail!?”

Through a cloud of anxiety and fear Abigail heard a familiar voice. “Will?” She ran up the stairs to the basement door and banged on it as loud as she could. “Will! Will I’m here!” Will turned towards the girl’s voice. Jack and Hannibal were at his heels. As soon as Jack heard her voice he called in backup. Will threw his body against the basement door and backed up to try again. Jack rounded the corner and Hannibal raised his knife behind him. Will pulled the gun he hid underneath his flannel button up and aimed at Hannibal’s head.

“Drop it.” Jack breathed a sigh of relief when he heard the heavy knife clunk against the floor. “Open the door.” Will kept his gun on Hannibal as he uncovered the key in his shirt cuff. The door swung open and Abigail stepped into the hallway. The sight of her frail frame and haunted eyes shocked Will. Hannibal used Will’s momentary lack of focus to shove him into Abigail and sent them both down the basement stairs. Hannibal slammed the door shut as Jack threw himself onto the other man's back and they both fell to the floor. Hannibal scrambled against the larger man’s choke hold. He managed to grab hold of the knife he dropped and sliced Jack’s forearm. He cut his own lip in the process and Jack let go of the madman with a pained shout. Hannibal jammed the knife into the special agent’s shoulder as far as it would go and ran for the door. Jack heard sirens as he lost consciousness.

**Author's Note:**

> For the 2014 Hannibal secret santa on tumblr. Prompt from messymikkelsen "Abigail felt trapped. Ever since she had agreed to let Hannibal slice off one of her ears so that he could give her a life that he could protect her in, it was like she had sold her soul to the Devil. Locked in the basement while he was gone during the day; locked in his home at night and allowed to roam the entirety of it whenever Hannibal was home."


End file.
